


the bounties our days contain

by magicites



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Coal Miners, French Opera Houses, M/M, Modern Era, Other AUs include:, Pirates, Reincarnation Romance, Sad with a Happy Ending, VanVen Week (Kingdom Hearts), Weird Magic Shit kind of?, Western, it cant be a reincarnation romance without a little bit of dying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 01:41:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21889294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicites/pseuds/magicites
Summary: “Look. I’ll come back someday. I don’t know when. Might be a few weeks. Might be a few years. Might be even longer. But it will happen. If you still want us to be together, then we’ll be together. If you want other nonsense, we can have that too. Okay?”Ven sniffles. “You want this nonsense, too.”“Yeah, but I need this,” Vanitas gestures to the worlds outside this one, “more.” He squeezes Ven’s hands. “But I’ll come back. I swear it.”-Ven, Vanitas, and the lifetimes it takes to fulfill that promise.
Relationships: Vanitas/Ventus (Kingdom Hearts)
Comments: 40
Kudos: 126





	1. Listen! The birds sing! Listen! The bells ring!

**Author's Note:**

> BRI BACK AT IT AGAIN WITH THE VANVEN BAYBEE!!!! i love these two so much. they're so fun. so good.
> 
> and this is fun!!! the prompts for vv week are soooo good and i am so excited to play with them! 
> 
> one last thing - this fic's title is taken from vienna teng's "in another life", which also inspired a few chapters in specific as well as the general moodboard of this fic. its a wonderful song, so definitely give it a listen!

There’s a world out there where Vanitas didn’t come back with Ven after their showdown at the Keyblade Graveyard, and that makes Ven unbearably sad.

It’s been about a year since the day they dragged themselves back to the Land of Departure - beaten, exhausted, but finally free.

A year of realizing just how much the world has changed without Ven awake to notice. A year of settling into grooves both new and old. A year of learning how to live with a new Master molding the castle in her shape. A year of passing by a new memorial in the front gardens.

It’s hard, not having Master Eraqus here.

But it’s easier, knowing that Vanitas is.

* * *

“I really like these noodles, Vanitas. You did a good job,” Aqua says, bringing a bundle of noodles to her mouth. She chews, swallows, and points her chopsticks at Vanitas. “They’re not too spicy.”

Vanitas rolls his eyes. “They’re not spicy at all. That’s for you and Terra and your pathetic spice tolerance.” He picks up a noodle and drops it into his mouth with a disgusting _slurp_ that never fails to make Aqua groan, Terra hide a smile behind his fist as to not upset Aqua, and Ven laugh, upsetting Aqua further.

He knows how to use chopsticks. He’s even pretty good at them. He just doesn’t like to - he thinks it’s too weird. He’ll use a spoon if he’s drinking soup, but that’s as far as he’ll go.

Vanitas is fascinating, like charting new constellations using only a telescope and the pinpricks of light that dot the night sky. There’s always a new quirk to discover, a new idiosyncrasy that endlessly entertains Ven because he’s never even thought of doing something the way Vanitas does it.

Ven can fall asleep anywhere if he’s at least sitting down, but Vanitas can fall asleep standing up. He’s also a light sleeper. Once Ven accidentally stepped on a creaky floorboard outside Vanitas’s room and was rewarded with a door nearly slamming into his face when Vanitas stepped out to investigate.

There are so many interesting quirks that Ven feels like he’s only just begun to learn about Vanitas. He’ll eat just about anything with hands. He likes spicy food and hates sweets with a passion. He can’t sit correctly in chairs. He’ll drop into a puddle of darkness like an Unversed and hide up in the rafters whenever he gets really mad. He’ll say he’s going to bed whenever he feels like it, but he only goes to sleep after padding out to the kitchen, heating up a glass full of milk with a Dark Fire spell Aqua constantly scolds him for using in the castle, and chugging it.

Ven knows this. He’s seen it. It’s pretty impressive.

Vanitas takes a slice of green onion - he cuts them long and piles as much of the white part onto his own plate because he likes the crunch - and bites into it. He makes eye contact with Aqua the entire time just to piss her off.

It works. She groans. “Vanitas, can’t we have one nice meal together? Just one?”

“It isn’t as bad as usual,” Terra says, trying his hardest to be helpful.

“This _is_ a nice meal. You just said the food was good,” Vanitas says. “If you don’t like it, then…” he trails off as he gestures to the door.

Too bad for Vanitas that Aqua would never back down that easily. She wiggles a little in her seat, her frown morphing into something haughtier, and eats another bundle of noodles. Once she swallows, she speaks. “I think I’ll stay right here.”

Vanitas snorts.

The tension breaks.

They all get back to finishing dinner.

Ven is home.

* * *

There are times like that, then there are times when Vanitas seems distracted. His training falters. He’ll spend way too long gazing out into who-knows-what. Like his mind is half here, and half somewhere else.

They all see it, but they all react differently. When Terra sees it, he claps Vanitas’s shoulder and offers to show him a new technique that he remembers from when he was trapped as Xehanort’s Guardian. When Aqua sees it, she invites him to have tea with her behind a door both sealed and soundproofed by magic so powerful that Ven can’t eavesdrop no matter how hard he tries.

When Ven sees it, he understands.

It’s the look of someone who wants to leave.

* * *

Ven takes a deep breath, as if the extra air filling his lungs could do anything to quell the nervous fear broiling within his gut. He sets his bag of supplies on the ground, freeing his hand to rap his knuckles against Vanitas’s door.

He listens for the telltale stomps - funny, how Vanitas walks with such heavy steps in day-to-day life but moves with all the substance of a shadow in battle - before the door flies open and a half-asleep Vanitas glares at him. Ven winces; he should have checked the sink for Vanitas’s empty milk mug before coming over here like a dope.

But he’s here, and he’ll be an even bigger dope if he just stands around. He picks up his bag of supplies and opens it for Vanitas to look within. Vanitas’s brow furrows as he takes in the sheets, the pillow, and the deflated air mattress.

“Sleepover?” Ven asks with a weak smile.

The furrowed brows raise up instead. Ven sees confusion, wariness, distrust, all play out over Vanitas’s face. “Why.”

Ven shrugs. “Thought it’d be fun.”

Sure, that isn’t the complete truth, but Vanitas would definitely say no if he knew the whole reason. Besides, it isn’t like Ven’s lying. He did think this would be fun! He’d been wanting to do it for a while, it’s just that… well, nothing has really pushed him to have a reason before now. Vanitas would never drop his guard enough during the day to have a real conversation about anything besides new training techniques and spells. Under the cover of darkness, when sleepiness has already dropped his guard, Ven has a chance.

That is, if Vanitas says yes.

Vanitas spends a solid two minutes standing in the doorway, regarding Ven with a sharpness that’s only dulled by the fact that there are still red lines criss-crossing against his cheek from where he smashed his face into his pillow. Ven shifts from foot to foot, but holds his ground. Kind of.

Finally, Vanitas opens his dumb mouth. “...You’re not giving up, are you?”

Ven grins. “Nope!”

“Fine. Just don’t make too much noise. I’m tired.” With his permission granted, he steps aside to let Ven in.

He’s seen his room before, but it occurs to Ven that this is the first time he’s actually been inside. With only a thin sliver of moonlight to illuminate his surroundings, he takes in his surroundings the best he can. It’s more barren then Ven thought it would be. The dresser is clean and bare, the bookcase is free of trinkets, and the bed is covered in simple black sheets.

There’s nothing that speaks to Vanitas’s personality here. No cookbooks to guide him whenever he wants to cook something to show Aqua up on his nights for dinner. No puzzles to entertain him on his rest days - those he must steal from Terra. No decorations that serve no other purpose other than to make the room feel more comfortable.

There’s nothing at all, and that fact makes Ven far more anxious than he would have hoped.

Ven gets to work setting up his own bedding. The air mattress inflates easily after he directs an Aero spell inside it, but too bad there’s no magic spell that can help him tug the sheets on any faster. “Your room’s pretty empty,” he says. “We can go to town on our next rest day. I’ll buy you some knick-knacks.”

Vanitas makes a disgusted sound. Ven can’t see his reaction, not when he’s looking down at the air mattress like this. “What’s the point?”

“So this place can feel cozier!”

“It’s fine as it is.”

“Sure, but it could always be better.”

Vanitas grunts - a sound that Ven has come to recognize as signalling the end of the conversation whether he likes it or not. For all the noise he made earlier about wanting to sleep, he leans against his window instead of returning to his bed. He looks out the window, leaving Ven with all the insight the back of Vanitas’s spiky head can’t afford him.

Ven sees his opportunity. He gets up and crosses the room to stand next to Vanitas, sitting on the windowsill just enough to look up at the stars outside. “I can teach you how to map constellations, if you want. I always get so lost in them.”

“Of course you do.”

Ven shoves him. Vanitas snorts, but he doesn’t laugh. That’s not a good sign.

“What’cha thinking about?” Ven tries, knowing it probably won’t work. Vanitas usually blows him off whenever he tries asking him about anything serious. For all the ways he still feels like a stranger, there are some routines Ven feels like he knows almost as well as he knows his own.

He wishes he had some kind of insight into Vanitas’s mind, the way Vanitas has a vague insight into his own. Heck, Vanitas can feel his eagerness right now, can’t he? He must, with how strongly it broils within Ven.

Still, best to be direct, right? At least this way him getting blown off will come quicker.

But a line of tension leaves Vanitas’s shoulders as he sighs, and Ven knows that he’ll finally get what he came here for. “How many worlds are out there? Hundreds? Thousands?”

“As many as all the stars in the sky,” Ven says.

“Thousands, huh,” Vanitas sounds more rueful than Ven wishes he was. He gets that. He also wonders if the wanderlust that once consumed him took root in whoever they used to be together. “I’ve maybe seen a dozen. Pathetic.”

“You gotta complete your training first,” Ven says, repeating the same thing Master Eraqus used to tell him. Aqua’s less strict when it comes to letting Ven off-world, but the faster he can become a Keyblade master, the faster he’ll feel better about exploring.

That, and he _wants_ to stay here. After so much time apart, it’s nice to have somewhere that feels like home.

He wants Vanitas to be part of that home, too. He’s settled into the grooves Vanitas has carved for himself here.

He just wishes Vanitas felt the same.

“That’s years away,” Vanitas says.

Ven leans into him, trying to provide some measure of comfort. He half expects Vanitas to pull away. To his surprise, he doesn’t. “It’ll go by in a flash. Just you watch.”

“I hope you’re right.” Vanitas says that, but his eyes go back to the sky.

* * *

But a week turns into a month, and Vanitas’s eyes rarely leave the starry skies at night. For all Ven tries to draw him close, he pulls away.

A day comes that Ven knew would, but wished it wouldn’t.

The only solace Ven can hold onto is the fact that at least he gets to say goodbye. He mulls this over as he leads Aqua and Terra down the steps of the castle to where Vanitas waits for them. There’s a single bag slung over Vanitas’s shoulder, containing every single thing that he’s deemed necessary enough to take with him.

Ven wishes that bag was bigger.

Really, he just wishes the bag didn’t exist in the first place.

Terra and Aqua took to the news better than Ven did. Everyone took to the news better than Ven did. Standing here feels like a part of him is getting ripped away all over again.

(Vanitas had told him first out of the three. Ven shouted, and threw things, and hid his face in his sleeve so Vanitas couldn’t see his furious tears, but nothing he did could change Vanitas’s mind. He needed this, even when Ven needed him to stay.

Vanitas sighed, and called him a big stupid baby, and hugged him until Ven cried out every single tear. It helped, but it wasn’t enough.

It wasn’t a promise to _stay.)_

So once Terra and Aqua are done giving their shoulder-claps and hair-ruffles, Ven steps forward. He’s no good at making trinkets, but he spent the past week forcing a hunk of silver into something meaningful.

He hands it out to Vanitas. “So you don’t forget me,” he says, forcing the small silver charm into Vanitas’s hand. “You can’t lose it.”

Vanitas looks down at it. Not a wayfinder, but a small star - a sparkle stolen from the night sky.

For some reason, that makes Vanitas laugh. Loudly, but not joyfully. Ven kind of hates the sound. “You think I could ever forget you?” Vanitas asks, once his awful laughter has finally died down. “As if my entire life hasn’t revolved around yours?”

“Then why are you leaving!?” Ven shouts, realizing with a terrible finality that this may be the clearest time he’s ever understood what Vanitas feels. He can’t have him leave. His life will feel so empty without him here.

Ven cares about him, even if he doesn’t know what specific shape that’s supposed to be quite yet.

“I’ve spent my entire existence defined by you. Everything I’ve ever seen, you’ve seen too. I need something for myself, Ventus. Something that isn’t you.”

Then, with that little charm in hand, Vanitas takes Ven’s hands in his own. He’s repeating a gesture he’s seen Aqua give to Terra before. He’s seen the same thing himself.

When they do it, it feels childish. Like two children playing at being grown-ups.

Ven finds himself blinking away tears. A twin shimmer appears in Vanitas’s gold eyes moments later, even as he tries to furiously blink it away. “Look. I’ll come back someday. I don’t know when. Might be a few weeks. Might be a few years. Might be even longer. But it will happen. If you still want us to be together, then we’ll be together. If you want other nonsense, we can have that too. Okay?”

Ven sniffles. “You want this nonsense, too.”

“Yeah, but I need _this,”_ Vanitas gestures to the worlds outside this one, “more.” He squeezes Ven’s hands. “But I’ll come back. I swear it.”

He leaves, taking the charm and Ven’s heart with him.

* * *

He never does come back.

All that Ven gets, years and years and years later, is a single message in a bottle. The star charm, rusted by time, is tied around the bottle’s neck.

Ven reads the message within. It’s unsigned, but Ven doesn’t need a signature to know who wrote this. What it says is enough.

_One day, I’ll be back. Sorry that couldn’t be today._

_I’ll make it up to you. Promise._

And Ven believes him.


	2. The Farthest Land

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 2  
> promise | heartless | **oblivion**
> 
> After fleeing for his life, Vanitas finds solace in a supposedly cursed ravine. He's content to spend the rest of his days here, alone until the day he dies.
> 
> Until he learns that someone else already calls this place home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title taken from the shadow of the colossus soundtrack, aka one of the most beautifully lonely games ive ever played. it's also the vague inspiration for this worldbuilding here! if you've played the game, i think you'll definitely see the influence.
> 
> i don't know what it is about making ven a priest-type character that i like so much, but i sure do like it.

This valley is quiet, just the way Vanitas hoped it would be. Nothing but the whistle of wind in his ears, the muted clap of his horse’s hooves against the soft grass, and faint birdsong in the distance. There are souls here, in the birds and rabbits and such, but he’s nearly certain he’s the only human one.

Which is why it’s the perfect place to spend the rest of his life. 

His clan thinks this place is cursed. Something about shadowy spirits claiming the land for their own. He’s heard the tales, but he’s never poured much stock in them the way the elders - and children, and adults, including his own insufferable father - do. So what if monsters live here? Monsters live everywhere. Monsters live within their clan.

Besides, he’d rather strike his sword into a beast with a ghastly face, not a beast with a human one. Not again.

“Think you could call this home, Hellraiser?” he learns forward to ask his horse. She whinnies in response. Vanitas hops off her to let her graze, figuring that they’re at a good stopping point. No one would dare follow them here, not through the ravine they’re all so scared of.

He’s as safe as he can be, provided he’s content to die here. 

And honestly? 

He is. 

As Hellraiser nibbles on the grass, Vanitas scopes out his surroundings. He’ll need to get to higher ground if he wants to really look around. Thankfully, he spots a sturdy-looking tree on a nearby hill. He crosses the distance and scales a large tree without much trouble. 

He made the right move, swiping these gloves off a dead man. Not like he would have needed them in the afterlife. 

He gets to the top and looks around. The ravine snakes through the lone gap in the mountains that tower over this valley, but down that way lies a trial for crimes Vanitas would argue aren’t crimes in the first place. He turns away from it, knowing it’s of no use to him now.

Something else gets his attention.

A decrepit structure, tucked into the far distance of the valley, and the tiny house nestled up beside it. 

The same house with a trail of smoke leaking out the front door. 

* * *

As Vanitas gets closer, he almost recognizes the architecture. It’s similar to the houses in the village he used to call his own. The house is cone-shaped and small, covered in the same thatched straw he’s seen throughout his life. The larger structure is made of the same materials, though its shaped as a large rectangle. Parts of the roof are missing, either rotted from time or destroyed.

But the small house looks fine. Vanitas hops off Hellraiser as he reaches the door. The smoke has since settled in the time it took Vanitas to get over here, but he can still smell it as he comes close to the worn leather that serves as a door. One hand goes to the sword at his waist as the other hovers just in front of the leather. “Who lives here?” he calls out.

He hears a frightened yelp from inside, followed by a crash that he quickly identifies as pottery shattering against a stone floor. Vanitas doesn’t feel too guilty for scaring whoever’s inside, not when he’s drawing his sword. He doesn’t like killing, but he’ll do it to save his own life.

The flap of leather opens and Vanitas finds himself face-to-face with a stone knife held by a pair of shaking hands. The owner of said hands and said knife looks at him with terrified blue eyes. His hair is fluffy and blonde and his skin is pale - okay, so  _ definitely _ not from his clan - and he’s dressed in a simple tunic and pants dyed a shade of green Vanitas has never seen in clothing before.

“W-who are you!? No one is supposed to come here! Ever!” He moves to press the knife against Vanitas’s throat, but a simple side-step is all it takes to avoid the weapon.

“That’s  _ why _ I’m here. I thought I’d be alone. Isn’t this place cursed?”

The fear in those blue eyes turns to a stone-cold anger. His fury shocks Vanitas enough that he’s unable to avoid his knife. The stone blade presses into his throat. Not enough to draw blood quite yet, but the threat is there. “Take that back! This place is sacred! More sacred than anywhere in the land!” 

Okay, so this guy is  _ definitely _ from another clan. One Vanitas’s has probably never interacted with, though that’s not exactly a hard thing to do. If you marry out of your clan, it’s only ever to one of the adjacent clans, and in doing so you forsake your right to your homeland.

As for stragglers? No one would ever take one in. You don’t leave your clan unless you have a damn good reason.

So why is this guy here? 

If Vanitas weren’t so intrigued, maybe he would have slit this guy’s throat and taken his house already. Too bad his curiosity wins out. Vanitas his hand off his sword and lifts both in the air - the clearest gesture of surrender he can communicate without throwing himself to the ground. “I won’t kill you if you don’t kill me. All I’m looking for is a place to live without my clan coming after my head. For all they’d search the land for me, they’re too afraid of this place to set foot here. That’s all.”

Finally, the knife lowers. “Because they think it’s cursed…” The guy trails off. He bites his lip, apparently deep in thought. Vanitas doesn’t know him well enough to know if he’s actually capable of deep thoughts or not. “That’s so weird,” he eventually continues. “I guess I could understand it, though. Nobody but the cleric is allowed to step foot here without being attacked by the spirits for their disrespect. I can’t believe your clan doesn’t know that.” Something occurs to him in that moment, and he peers at Vanitas. “Why haven’t you burst into flames yet?”

Vanitas barks out a laugh. He may think the demons living here is nothing but an old fairy tale, but this guy definitely believes it. 

The guy scowls. “I’m being serious!” he insists.

“I don’t know. Maybe I’m too holy?” he says, stifling another chuckle. Him, holy? He’s anything but. What a joke.

Yet that triggers something in the guy. Joy blossoms over him, and he leaves his house to step closer to Vanitas. Something bright and unexplainable shines in his eyes. It feels familiar in a way that Vanitas can’t quite grasp. “You’re right! If you’re here, then the spirits must have called you here! Come in! The fire’s dead, but I can start it up again if you’re cold. Are you hungry? I have stew prepared!”

For all Vanitas was determined to live out the rest of his days alone, he lets himself be pulled inside.

* * *

They huddle around the fire pit in the center of the house - so much like the houses in Vanitas’s own clan that it almost hurts - and talk over bowls of rabbit stew. 

The guy’s name is Ven, he learns, and Ven’s something that his clan calls a  _ cleric. _ His clan lives on the other side of the mountains, opposite the ravine. He had to spend weeks trekking through the mountains just to get here. The same mountains everyone in Vanitas’s clan knows better not to go anywhere near, unless they want to get eaten alive by bears and snakes. 

Despite that, Ven - this puny, wimpy guy who is barely more than a kid, just like Vanitas - made the trek here alone. And he goes up to the summit of the mountain twice a year to confer with his clan’s elders. He calls it  _ sharing his revelations, _ but it’s the same concept.

Vanitas learns that he’s lived here alone for almost seven years, and that in three days he’s going back home. 

It’s stupid how upset that makes Vanitas. 

“But when will you be back?” Vanitas asks. 

Ven shakes his head. “We let the spirits rest for three years between clerics. After that, a new one will come.”

“Then what do you do? Become an elder or something?”

Ven shrugs. “I complete my duty,” he says vaguely. That’s all Vanitas gets out of him for the rest of the night.

At least he lets Vanitas sleep on the floor.

* * *

Ven takes him to the larger structure the next day, still convinced that the spirits beckoned Vanitas here for some reason. They didn’t, but Vanitas doesn’t fight back too hard. He’d rather not get stabbed with a shitty knife in his sleep if Ven thinks he’s desecrating holy ground. 

“It’s supposed to look this… well, this bad,” Ven explains as Vanitas frowns at the patches of sunlight filtering through the gaps in the roof. “Clerics spend their first year restoring the temple. After that, we can’t make any more repairs. It’s our way of reminding the spirits that our time here is limited. They can’t die. But we do.”

“That’s morbid.”

Again, Ven shrugs. “Otherwise, they’d be furious when clerics leave. And we need them to bless our hunts and our crops!”

“Then what about me? How am I supposed to fit into this? Won’t they be pissed that I’m here once you leave?”

“Dunno. That’s for them to tell us.”

Ven starts his daily set of prayers, leaving Vanitas to lean against a splintered wooden pole to watch. He burns a small stick of fragrant leaves, filling the space with a fresh, crisp scent. Vanitas is certain he’s used it to season meat before. He wonders if admitting that to Ven would be some kind of heresy. 

It’s strange how much their customs differ, but their languages don’t. Ven speaks a little differently than Vanitas does, puts his inflections on odd parts of words, but it isn’t anything that really impedes their ability to communicate with each other. 

He still doesn’t believe in these spirits, but it almost feels something bigger than either of them here brought them to the same space. 

Almost.

* * *

Ven’s clan doesn’t raises horses. They do everything by foot. 

So of course, once Ven’s duties are done for the day, Vanitas spends the afternoon trying to coax him onto Hellraiser. 

“I don’t get it. You’re telling me to just throw myself over the side of the horse? I’m gonna either hit the side of the horse or fall and it’ll be your fault.”

“No. Well. Yes. But you won’t fall. If you get a running start, it’s easier. Look.” For the fourth time in the past few minutes, Vanitas grabs onto Hellraiser’s mane, puts a hand on her withers to steady himself, and swings his leg up and onto her. A little push from his hand and he’s on her back easily. “See? Even children can do it.”

Ven isn’t convinced. 

Vanitas hops off Hellraiser and gestures to her. For what her name implies, she’s actually being very calm. She likes Vanitas, and it seems like she likes Ven well enough to cooperate. It’s everyone else she hates.

At least, everyone else in Vanitas’s clan.

With a sigh, Ven approaches her. He grabs a tuft of her mane and sets his other hand on her withers. With a tiny skip, he springs forward, then propels himself onto her. He manages to swing his leg onto her, but it takes a bit of ungraceful scrambling before he’s sitting upright.

Hellraiser flicks her tail and moves in place, jostling Ven so much that he fists both hands into her mane and yelps. She knickers, irritated, and starts off on a brisk trot. Ven nearly flies off of her; it’s only thanks to him wrapping his arms around her neck and holding on for dear life that he doesn’t.

Irritated in turn, Vanitas clicks his tongue. That slows Hellraiser down to a walk, giving Vanitas enough opportunity to jump on behind Ven and calm her the hell down. “It’s alright. I got you. Both of you.”

“H-how do you manage this?” Ven stammers, even as Vanitas gets Hellraiser to stop and tugs Ven off her neck.

“Years of practice. Now lighten up. I said I got you.”

“All you need is to  _ get _ me off this horse and back on the ground.”

Vanitas grins. “But where’s the fun in that? Just trust me. You’ll enjoy it… eventually.” 

Ven sighs, but he doesn’t make any moves to get off the horse. “Fine,” he relents. Vanitas’s arms go around him, taking hold of the reins made of rope Vanitas braided himself. They’re not the greatest, but they get the job done. 

“You won’t fall,” Vanitas promises. “Not with me here.”

He works Hellraiser up to a canter, and they spend the rest of the afternoon riding around the valley. Once Ven gets over his fear, he laughs freely, content to lean back into Vanitas and let him take the lead. The irony that a near-stranger trusts Vanitas more than his entire clan, the people who have known him since birth, isn’t lost on him.

The acknowledgement is bitter, but the time he spends here with Ven? It feels right.

* * *

“You never told me why exactly you came here,” Ven says that night, probably figuring that Vanitas’s embarrassment will be hidden under the darkness of the new moon. 

Vanitas could pretend to be asleep. Ven wouldn’t be able to see the difference, after all. Since he’s leaving in… what, two days now? Vanitas could bide his time and never tell him.

He could, but he doesn’t. “This is the only place I could think of where my clan wouldn’t chase me.”

Rustling comes from the bed - Vanitas takes it to assume Ven’s propping himself up on his elbow. “Why would they chase you?”

Vanitas takes a deep breath. He feels like he’s standing on the edge of a cliff, toes touching the edge between solid ground and utter nothingness.

He takes the plunge.

“I killed my own father.”

More rustling. “W-what!? Why!? Why would you ever do that!?” 

It’s the incredulousness in Ven’s voice, the sheer disbelief, that sparks anger deep and burning in Vanitas’s gut. “Because the bastard deserved it! He tried to drown me when I was eight just because I did  _ something _ , I don’t even know what, that disappointed him! I’m covered in the scars that  _ he _ gave me!”

For far too long, Ven goes quiet. The sound of his voice when he finally does stutter a response kind of makes Vanitas want to punch him. “T-that… that isn’t right. My clan believes that parents need to respect their kids as much as kids respect their parents.”

“Yeah, and one of the most sacred tenets of  _ my _ clan is that you never,  _ ever _ disrespect your parents. To talk back gets a public beating. But to kill him?” Vanitas shrugs. “We also believe if you take a life, you have to give yours. And I wasn’t giving anything up.”

“That’s… that’s why you wanted to be alone, right?”

“Yep.”

“I won’t hurt you,” Ven insists. “I mean, I hope that was obvious already, but I won’t! I can’t approve of what you did, but… things aren’t always so easy to figure out. If it was truly a forbidden gesture, then the spirits would have cursed you the moment you did it. You wouldn’t be here. I still don’t get it, but it’s not my place to judge.”

It isn’t quite acceptance, but it’s close enough that Vanitas can pretend.

* * *

The next night, after a day spent learning about what kinds of mushroom will and won’t kill Vanitas should he eat them, Vanitas is the one to ask Ven a sharpened question.

“So, what’ll happen to you when you go back to your clan?” 

He leaves tomorrow evening.

He doesn’t need light to know there’s a spark in Ven’s eyes. It shows up whenever Ven talks about all his cleric stuff. It’s the light that never leaves him whenever he’s in the decrepit temple, stronger than the sunlight that bleeds through the rotting thatch roof. 

“We’ll have a huge festival! It lasts seven days, one for each year I’ve spent here. Everyone in my clan eats and dances all day and pretty much all night. It’s amazing. Then on the seventh day, I commune with the spirits one last time to choose the next cleric.”

“Then what happens? You go back to being a normal person?”

Ven makes a vague gesture. “Something like that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You wouldn’t like it if I went into more detail, trust me.”

Vanitas tries to push further, but getting Ven to give any more detail about what’ll happen after the festival is like trying to move a mountain. It leaves Vanitas with a feeling he doesn’t like. 

He wonders what  _ really _ waits for Ven at the end of this journey.

* * *

Their last day together is a quiet one. Ven doesn’t have many belongings, but Vanitas helps him pack up regardless. Ven peppers in advice throughout the day, making sure to tell Vanitas the best places to catch fresh fish or get berries in the hot season. 

When the sun sets, Ven prepares to leave.

Vanitas finds himself wishing they had more time together. Even just another night would have been better than this. Anything. 

“I hope you find whatever it is that you were brought here for,” Ven says. His eyes grow soft. “I hope it brings you peace.”

He turns and walks away before Vanitas can respond, the words dying in his throat as Ven starts the trek through the mountains. 

It’s only when he’s nothing more than a flash of yellow amongst green and brown does something strike Vanitas.

_ I think I was brought here to find you. _

He can’t bring himself to say that, either.


	3. suddenly the world seems such a perfect place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> innocence | **mask** | reverse
> 
> The curtains open. A young man about Ven’s age, dressed in a dashing maroon coat that sweeps the floor with every step. He doesn’t wear the kind of wig Ven has come to associate with these kind of opera houses, instead letting his wily black hair run wild over his head. His Italian is flawless as he sings his intention to find his true calling.
> 
> Even when the female lead appears, singing with all the beauty of a songbird in spring, Ven can’t tear his eyes away from the male lead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title and vague inspiration taken from moulin rogue, which is one of my favorite movie-musicals. as fun as itd be to include a rival love interest for ven to fight with over vanitas, this chapter was already long enough as it was. i did not need to play myself with another 10k fic out of nowhere.
> 
> this is also inspired by my perception of phantom of the opera, which i've never actually seen.
> 
> after reading this you too will know about 17th century french culture, congratulations

Sundays are reserved for two things: Mass in the morning, and the opera in the evening. Master Eraqus always picks the opera house they attend, though he’s more than open to suggestions.

Today’s opera house is one Aqua suggested, intrigued by the fact that it’s one of the few Italian-only opera houses in the entire city. As Luxord, owner of one of the largest opera houses in the entire city and self-proclaimer opera artisan, likes to say, _Let those English fools slobber over Italian operas. We Frenchmen have pride in our own creations._

Ven doesn’t really like opera. Well, it’s okay. It can be pretty relaxing, even! But if he had his way, he’d spend his Sundays the same way he spends his only other day off during the week: reading. 

Still, Master Eraqus is willing to pay a lot for these tickets, and he never once asks himself or Terra or Aqua to pay him back. Aqua gets an excuse, since she’s his daughter and all, but Ven and Terra are just apprentices. At the very least, they should be required to do more chores, right?

Ven doesn’t always get Master Eraqus’s thought process, but that’s what he’s here to learn, right? All the weird thoughts that go into smithing some of the best weaponry in all of France. 

Ven entertains himself with these thoughts until the lights dim and the first sung note hangs in the air. It’s a powerful tenor, commanding the silence of the audience with only their voice. 

The curtains open. A young man about Ven’s age, dressed in a dashing maroon coat that sweeps the floor with every step dominates the stage. He doesn’t wear the kind of wig Ven has come to associate with these kind of opera houses, instead letting his wily black hair run wild over his head. His Italian is flawless as he sings his intention to find his true calling.

Even when the female lead appears, singing with all the beauty of a songbird in spring, Ven can’t tear his eyes away from the male lead.

* * *

The next week, Ven begs for them to return to the small Italian opera house.

His request inspires a laugh out of Master Eraqus. “I never thought I’d see you take an interest in opera, Ven,” he chortles.

After Ven’s eyes stay glued to the stage from the moment the curtains open to the moment they fall, Terra suggests something a little different. “Or are you interested in one of the singers, Ven?” he asks. “The girl is really cute. Strelitzia, is it?”

The female lead, with a soprano that belongs in the best opera house in France and a face that reminds Ven a little too much of Lauriam for his comfort, is objectively cute. But she isn’t why Ven goes. 

Not that Terra _or_ Aqua believe him when Ven begs them to go for the third week in a row, only to show up twenty seconds before the start of the opera with a fat bouquet of roses in his arms. He’s only saved from the complete embarrassment of Terra and Aqua _and_ Master Eraqus laughing at him by the start of the show. They’re all too respectful to laugh at him over the sound of the male lead’s gorgeous opening song.

His name is Vanitas, which Ven is definitely certain his parents didn’t give him. It took a bit of wheedling one of the opera staff to get his name. It took a small bribe to get the location of his dressing room.

That’s where Ven heads to the moment the curtains close and the actors have all gone through the last of their thanks. “I’ll be back tonight!” Ven calls over his shoulder, leaving his Master and fellow apprentices astounded in his wake.

Vanitas may be the opera’s star, but the door to his dressing room is so plain that Ven would have mistaken it for a supply closet had he not known better.

Ven summons up all his courage and raps his knuckles against the door before he can think better of it. His heart leaps into his throat when the door swings open to reveal Vanitas frowning at him. A glass of wine sits delicately in his hand, the deep red liquid sloshing up the edges with every choreographed move Vanitas makes. 

From the close, the makeup that made him glow onstage looks garish.

Ven is entranced. 

“Strelitzia’s dressing room is down there,” Vanitas says, a single finger flicking out to indicate another nondescript door further down the hall.

His French is flawless, but there’s something about the cadence of his voice that makes it sound as rough as German. Ven wishes he could hear more of it.

Vanitas is staring at him. Waiting for a response. 

“O-oh, what?” Ven shakes his head. Since when did feel so dazed? Vanitas takes a sip of wine. “No, uh, actually… these are for you.”

Apparently the fact that Ven’s here to see Vanitas shocks him so much that he’s flung into a coughing fit. Vanitas practically drops his wine glass on his vanity and scrambles for something to cough into other than the maroon sleeve of his coat. He snatches up a silk handkerchief and coughs into that, each one wracking his body. When he calms down, he pulls back a little bit to inspect the handkerchief. Whatever he sees must not worry him, because he balls up the fabric and tosses it deeper into his dressing room.

He turns back to face Ven. “Did I hear you right? Those are for me?”

Ven nods.

“From you?”

Another nod.

At first, Vanitas doesn’t move. Ven feels a mortified flush crawl up and slither over his face, burning him like the heat of freshly-tempered metal that he wasn’t patient enough to wait before touching again. He considers storming away, dumping the bouquet in the closest river he can find, and never returning to this part of the city again. 

Those thoughts all leave when Vanitas sticks his hand out, expectant. “Well? I’m waiting.”

Ven practically shoves the bouquet against Vanitas’s chest. He opens his mouth to thank him again. To his complete embarrassment, something entirely different comes out. “I’ve seen you for the past three weeks in a row. You’re amazing. The way you command the stage! Oh, and the way your voice fills the entire opera house! I’ve been going to operas almost every single week for the past five years, but nothing I’ve ever heard compares to you.”

Vanitas waits for Ven to quit rambling, a hand carefully poised over his mouth. Once he’s certain that Ven’s done, he bursts into laughter. Rough, tumbling out of his chest like rocks. 

Mary Mother of Saints above, Ven would come here every single day with the most beautiful flowers in all of France to hear that sound again. 

“How much wine did they give you before the show? A bottle? Two?” His eyes rake down Ven’s form. “No. You couldn’t down two on your own.”

“I didn’t have any wine! Can’t you just take a compliment?”

“I could, if the show was any good. But this show is garbage. The plot makes no sense, the music is pathetically easy, and not even Strelitzia’s charm can save it. Plus, we do Italian operas. In _France._ It’s doomed to fail.”

Vanitas doesn’t seem angry about any of this. If anything, he seems resigned. That reaction only makes Ven that much more curious. “Then why do it?”

“I get a roof over my head, three meals a day, and all I have to do is sing. Why wouldn’t I do it?” He looks down at the flowers. “I’m going to take off my makeup. If you want to set a record for longest opera-goer, come back next week.” He shuts the door, the closest thing to a goodbye Ven thinks he’s going to get.

* * *

Ven can’t convince Master Eraqus and the others to see the same opera for a _fourth_ week in a row. Luckily for Ven, he can spend his Wednesdays however he wishes. Part of the day has to be reserved for chores. He needs to make sure all his duties are accounted for, after all.

But his afternoon is blissfully free. He doesn’t have the money to pay for a ticket on his own, but he does have the stealth to slip inside the opera house unnoticed. He doesn’t have a bouquet this time, just a few lilies he picked from Master Eraqus’s plants and convinced Aqua to weave into a bracelet for him. It isn’t a very traditional gift for an opera singer, but Vanitas doesn’t seem like that traditional of a guy. 

If anything, gifting a bracelet is closer to presenting Vanitas with a courting gift than a normal token of appreciation for an amazing singer. Ven knows this, and…

Uh…

Yeah.

_Yeah._

Ven knocks on Vanitas’s door before he can second-guess himself. Vanitas comes to the door, surprise registering in his raised eyebrow as he takes in Ven. “How’d you get in here? Only cast members and stagehands are allowed back before the show.”

“That doesn’t really matter,” Ven says, thinking of the window he clambered through to get in here. Vanitas’s eyebrow remains raised, but he must decide it’s not worth it to push, because he doesn’t. 

He looks different. It takes a few moments for Ven to realize this is the first time he’s seen him without stage makeup on. His skin is darker than Ven thought. Freckles dapple across his nose and the tops of his cheekbones. Ven would reach out and touch him if he wouldn’t get strung and quartered for being so improper.

He forces himself to look away, even though he doesn’t want to. “I-I brought you something. A good luck gift,” he says, holding out the lily bracelet. Vanitas takes it and examines it carefully as Ven continues to ramble. “It won’t last long like this, but if you dry and bottle the flower, it should last way longer.”

Vanitas chuckles, low and deep in his chest. Ven could listen to that sound forever. It isn’t quite as open as his laughter, but it’s still divine. He feels almost like he’s been caught in a spell. It’s only intensified when Vanitas slips the bracelet onto his wrist. “Someone will find you and kick you out if you stick around,” he warns.

“O-oh, okay. I’ll head out.”

“Wait. Are you coming tonight?”

Ven shakes his head. “I’m a smith’s apprentice. My Master takes care of all my needs and I’m the third son of poor farmers. I can’t afford the ticket.”

“A smither, huh? What do you specialize in?” Vanitas asks.

“Weapons, mostly. Swords, lances, crossbows.” 

“And your Master’s name?”

“Eraqus.”

Vanitas nods slowly, his fingers cradling the edges of the lily. It stands out so vividly against his black gloves. He makes a mental note to thank Aqua when he gets back. “Get out of here before the guards come,” Vanitas says, clearing his throat. Ven tries to say goodbye, but Vanitas closes the door before he can.

He leaves to the sound of muffled coughing, something heavy and sad settling in his chest.

* * *

Ven comes back from cleaning the smithy to see Lauriam, the owner of the Italian opera house, and Strelitzia sitting in the foyer of Eraqus’s home. They each hold cups of half-empty tea.

Ven fights down a mortified flush at the thought of soot that streaks his cheeks from when he accidentally wiped his face earlier. He scans the area; his only saving grace is that Vanitas isn’t here.

“That’s him, brother!” Strelitzia says, pointing to Ven. “The boy Vanitas spoke about!”

The flush returns in full force. What is Vanitas saying about him? Calling him a creep for sneaking in just to see him? Are they here to ban him from the opera house.

“Master, please, forgive m-” Ven begins, but he cuts himself off as Eraqus raises a single hand.

“There is nothing to forgive, Ventus. If anything, I should be thanking you.”

“Thanking me? For what?”

“Vanitas mentioned you smith weaponry,” Lauriam says. He pauses to take a sip of his tea. “It just so happens that we’re starting to prepare for our next opera, and we’re in desperate need for weapons.”

“It’s about a wartime queen and her loyal knight,” Strelitzia adds. “It’s the first opera I’ve written! My friend Elrena is composing the music for us. It’s going to be spectacular.” 

“It sounds lovely,” Eraqus says. “I would be honored to see it.”

“If you and your apprentices can forge our weapons, we’ll pay you well. We’ll also provide free tickets for opening night.” 

Eraqus agrees on the spot. 

At Aqua and Terra’s teasing insistence, Ven is given the duty to consult the opera house on what types of weapons they want. 

And the person in charge of prop design and conception?

Vanitas.

* * *

The next several weeks pass by like a dream. Ven’s pulled from his basic duties - gathering materials, cleaning the smithy, making sure the forge is properly heated, and tons of other things that bore the life out of him - to consult with the opera house.

That’s the official title. Really, he splits much of his time between Eraqus’s smithy and the opera house. Sometimes he and Vanitas work together to draft weapons for their opera. Sometimes Vanitas asks for his opinion on armor and costumes, even though Ven doesn’t know anything about either. 

Sometimes, they simply spend time together, enjoying the warm May sunlight under the shade of the junipers by the opera house. Vanitas buys bread for them to split, still warm from the bakery he picked it up from. He likes pairing his with honey, but after he discovers how much Ven enjoys camembert cheese, he starts picking up a wheel for them to eat together.

He learns some of Vanitas’s oddest quirks. Like how he refuses to stand up and move around unless it’s absolutely necessary. He lounges around the opera house like the world’s laziest cat whenever he’s given the opportunity. He also will disappear for minutes on end with no explanation at all. He always carries a handkerchief on him, no matter where he is, who he’s with, or where he’s going. Ven can’t figure out why. 

Ven can’t offer him food, nor can he embroider or sew to save his life, but he offers trinkets. He doesn’t have the talent to forge charms and bracelets the way Aqua does, but he spends more than one night devouring every technique she’ll show him. Vanitas never comments on the sloppy form of his trinkets, even the ones that don’t temper correctly and end up dull and plain. 

There’s one night where Ven finds himself unwittingly forging a small metal spoon. He doesn’t _mean_ for it to be a spoon. He simply starts out with a piece of molten bronze that he forges a horseshoe out of, because the shape is easy and it brings him a comfort he can’t quite explain.

Then it’s followed by a wheel, then a lock, because that’s about as complicated a shape as Ven can make on such a tiny piece of metal. He’s hollowing out the bottom, his mind drifting to the pure white handkerchiefs that sit in a neatly-folded stack on Vanitas’s vanity, when Aqua finds him.

“Oh, hello Ven. Are you using our smaller pliers? The baker’s daughter commissioned me for a necklace, so I was hoping to work on that to- Ven.” Her voice goes oddly flat when she says his name. “Is that what I think it is.” Despite her words, it isn’t a question. It feels like an accusation.

Ven looks at the molten piece of half-formed metal on his worktable. “What do you think it is?”

 _“ Please_ tell me it’s not a spoon.”

Ven looks down at it with growing horror.

“Uh…” he trails off, debating the merits of flinging it against the wall and pretending this never happened. “Maybe? I didn’t mean to make a spoon, it just kinda… made itself, I think.”

Aqua doesn’t buy it. “Ven…” she sighs his name the same way she does whenever he misses a spot after cleaning the smithy. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“No!”

“No courtships you’re thinking of pursuing?”

“W-what!? No! Aqua, who would I even court!?”

“The same person you’ve been making jewelry for over the past few weeks?” Aqua offers. “It’s been obvious from the start, silly.” At that, Aqua rests her hands on his shoulders, giving him a quick squeeze. His racing heart calms, if only a little. She’s always been good at making him feel safe. “I don’t disapprove, you know. I just want you to be careful. Know what you’re getting into, okay?”

“Yeah… okay, Aqua. Thanks.”

* * *

The more music Elrena and Strelitzia write, the more open Vanitas is to practicing as Ven drafts ideas for props. He’s expanded beyond weapons, including armor and even set pieces that have _nothing_ to do with metal. Ven’s tried to insist that he’s way out of his comfort zone, but it’s hard for him to say no to Vanitas.

It’s even harder to say no when it’s just the two of them, Vanitas singing his lines with such clear emotion that Ven has to blink away tears. He’s a lovelorn knight in this opera, desperate to protect his queen near the end of a war that they’re losing. He sings his heartbreak, his desperation, his devotion to the one person that matters to him more than anyone else.

Ven thinks of the little metal spoon tucked away in his own room. A gift of romantic intent. 

He makes a decision. 

On opening night, he won’t give flowers, but that spoon. Then Vanitas will know. And if he says no, then at least Ven’s job here will be done.

* * *

The days seem to fly by as they get closer to opening night. Terra, Aqua, and even Master Eraqus himself assist with the set design. They spend hours crafting balconies for the queen to sing from, throne rooms for her knight to swear his undying fealty to her, wooden forests for them to fight their enemies within, and everything in-between. Ven works harder than he has since the start of his apprenticeship.

But it feels like the harder they work, the more tense the opera singers become. Strelitzia and Vanitas rehearse the songs over and over, to the point that Ven wonders how they don’t sing their throats raw and bloody. 

He gets his answer when Vanitas erupts into the second coughing fit on that day. He coughs into the handkerchief - not entirely an uncommon sight. 

But then he keeps coughing.

And keeps coughing.

When he pulls back to examine his handkerchief, his eyes widen in the clearest expression of fear Ven has ever seen. A worried Strelitzia comes over to his side and spots whatever’s scared Vanitas so deeply before he can hide it. 

She puts her arm around his shoulders and leads him away. “Ven, go home for the day!”

“Strelitzia, is everythin-”

“-It’s fine, don’t worry! Vanitas is just a little under the weather.” She turns to coo to Vanitas. “Let’s go make you some tea, yeah?”

* * *

Ven gets a letter a few days before the opera is set to debut. 

_Come to our final dress rehearsal,_ it reads. _So you can see the finished piece._ The letter is unsigned, but Ven doesn’t need a signature to know who sent this to him. 

At this point, when he shows up to the opera house, the man guarding the front lets him in with a smile and a polite tilt of the head. Ven returns the gesture. He walks down halls that have grown so familiar, though he forgoes checking back on Vanitas’s dressing room in favor of sitting down in the front row. Right in front of where Vanitas will appear on-stage for the first time. 

He feels light, as if he’d float off into the sky at any moment. He thinks of the spoon sitting in his dresser and part of him wishes he would have brought it here. At least its heavy implication would have grounded him. 

But one more night, and then he’ll court Vanitas properly.

The curtains open, and the show begins. Strelitzia opens the opera with a high, piercing note that commands all attention. She looks ethereal in her flowing white gown, the fabric dancing with her every move. She reaches her hand out and calls for her love.

And Vanitas appears, majestic in his blood red armor. He points his sword - the same sword Ven worked on for weeks, imbuing all his care into it - at the sky, every move powerful and true.

Ven can’t tear his eyes from him.

The opera continues. The queen and her knight swear their love not in their words, but in their deeds. The knight slays assassins that come for her in the dead of night. The queen spares his life when he steals provisions for himself. She strikes down enemies with her own lance, impaling the same people that try to go for his life as they go for hers. 

The climax comes. The war goes even worse for the queen and her knight, despite all their strategy and all their strength. Vanitas strides to the front of the stage and duels the enemy commander, parrying his strikes with such accuracy that Ven could almost believe he’s a true knight. 

Vanitas stabs his enemy, slaying him. He declares that his love is stronger than even death itself, singing the solo that the entire opera has worked towards.

He swears to tear apart the skies itself if it means keeping his queen safe, his voice stronger and more beautiful than Ven has ever heard it before.

He raises his sword up.

And he faints.

The music comes to a crashing halt as Lauriam and Elrena let out twin shouts - Lauriam to the singers on stage, Elrena to the orchestra she directs. Strelitzia rushes from off-stage, falling to her knees at his side. It’s her panic that clues Ven in on the fact that something is horribly, terribly wrong. 

Vanitas curls in on himself as his entire frame shakes with terrible, wet coughs. He can’t even pull out a handkerchief to cough into.

Flecks of red splatter the wooden floor.

All at once, Ven realizes what Vanitas has been hiding this whole time. He’s on his feet the next moment and clambers onto the stage, dropping to Vanitas’s other side. Strelitzia has maneuvered him onto his back, resting his head in her lap as he coughs pathetically. 

“You’ll get through this, Vanitas,” Strelitzia is saying, tears streaming down her face. “It’ll pass. You’ll get better.”

Vanitas coughs. Red splatters her dress. “It’s over, Strelitzia. You know it. I know it. I’m dying. Just… thought it wouldn’t come this soon.”

“You’re what!?” Ven demands. He surges forward and grabs Vanitas’s hands in his own. He’s still so warm. “H-how? What happened?”

“I’ve been sick far longer than you knew me,” Vanitas says with a weak, rueful smile. “This opera shit likes to harp on that love is stronger than anything in the world, but it’s wrong. Love can’t save you from this.”

That breaks something within Ven. Tears stream down his face. He wants to scream at Vanitas for not giving him more time. He wants to scream at the Father himself for taking Vanitas back so quickly. Mostly, he wants to scream at himself for leaving that _stupid_ spoon behind. 

“But- Vanitas, I never got to-”

A bloodied finger presses against his lips, silencing his protests.

“It wasn’t supposed to go like this,” Strelitzia says quietly. “None of this.”

But it does go like this.

Vanitas grows limp, the warmth of his body slowly fading. His blood cooling on Ven’s lips. 

From out of nowhere, Ven can almost hear a voice whisper to him. Something about a promise, still yet to be fulfilled. 

He never can bring himself to get rid of the spoon.


	4. All the sailor boys have demons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> together | **phobia** | breath
> 
> What kind of pirate doesn't know how to swim?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so if you've ever listened to friends at the table there's this arc called "boat party" in the first season where some of the main characters go on a boat and fight pirates. there's this really beautiful bit where one of the characters talks about this pirate he sees and pretty much instantly falls for? and wonders who he is, where he came from, what's his story, etc etc
> 
> this isn't that but it's KINDA INSPIRED by that. 
> 
> also: i LOVE strelitzia, in case you didn't know

“What kind of pirate doesn’t know how to swim?” Larxene asks from behind Vanitas as she pushes him forward. Funny how her words and actions are two diametrically opposed things - she says  _ go back to shore, you fool _ but the constant shoving says  _ get on the fucking boat already. _

“The kind that didn’t plan on becoming a pirate until three days ago,” Vanitas snaps back. Satisfied, Larxene vaults herself along the railing of the bridge - the only thing still connecting him to sweet, dry land - and moves to the actual ship. She stands on it like all she’s ever known is the sea. Vanitas doesn’t know how she does it. 

“Luckily for you I don’t actually give a shit if you can swim or not,” she says. “With any luck, we’ll never need to test that. All I care about is that you can fight.”

Which she already tested when she recruited him. It was simple: he may have stolen a bit too much money from the wrong people, so he needed a place to hide where the government couldn’t catch him. Xion, who is his kid sister in all but blood, is buddy-buddy with the governor’s daughter. That let her hide in plain sight. 

All Vanitas has to do was fight people - one of his favorite pastimes - steal some tea shipments from the Brits, and not fall overboard. He sparred against Larxene herself, and while she’s a damn good opponent, he’s almost as fast and twice as strong as her. 

“You’re low on the totem pole. Above Demyx.” she says, gesturing to the lanky guy strumming a… is that a fucking sitar? Where the  _ fuck _ did he get a sitar from? Either way, he’s strumming a fucking sitar on the other side of the ship. “Demyx is our medic and also  The Dandelion’s mascot, which basically means that I keep him around because he makes Strelitzia laugh. Strelitzia is the most amazing person you’ll ever fucking meet, so if you so much as make her frown I’ll stab you with every knife on this ship. She’s our navigator. I’m the captain,  _ duh, _ and Luxord is our quartermaster. You’re our extra muscle. Got it?”

“Do I need to learn how to sail this thing?”

Larxene giggles. “Puh-lease. You really think I’d let someone as wimpy as you sail  _ my _ ship? Not even if I died. You might hold some ropes, but that’s as much as I’ll trust you.”

Vanitas can accept that. 

“Now get on the fucking boat already, Vanitas,” she says, snapping her fingers like he’s a dog she’s trying to get to come closer. A young woman with flowing orange pigtails pops her head up from below deck at the sound. She strides across the deck and covers Larxene’s hand with her own.

The change is instantaneous. Larxene calms down, all the fight in her melting out at one touch. Vanitas is almost impressed. “Ellie, don’t be so mean,” she chides gently. This has to be Strelitzia. There’s no way it isn’t. “Welcome aboard, Vanitas. Don’t be worried about not being able to swim. If anyone ever goes overboard, we have a life buoy. You won’t drown.”

* * *

There is nothing Strelitzia, or anyone else, can do to help Vanitas get accustomed to sea life. While Demyx can spend hours plucking at his sitar without a care as Strelitzia dances to the gentle  _ twangs _ that rise above the roar of the waves, Vanitas spends every minute of every day stumbling around like a drunk. The ship never stops moving, just like it never rocks in a uniform enough pattern for Vanitas to get used to the constant movement. 

At least he doesn’t get seasick. Vertigo and nausea, while similar, aren’t quite the same thing. 

After a week of nothing but wide open water, Vanitas has gone through the five stages of grief long enough to finally accept that his existence is now tied to this damn boat. He’s grown used to the stumbling. He’s grown used to having fish with every meal, because apparently Demyx is an  _ excellent _ deep sea fisher. He’s grown used to having every other thing either be canned or pickled. 

What he hasn’t grown used to is the bone-deep terror he feels every single time he looks over the ship’s edge. He’s never felt smaller than when he looks out at the ocean. It could claim his life in a single second. It could tear him away from Xion, from all the promises he’s made her of the good life they’ll have when he comes back. 

* * *

One day, as Vanitas cleans the crew’s quarters, he finds the half-eaten corpse of a rat. Disgusted, he opens up a port window and flings the thing out.

Only to hear a frustrated hiss behind him. Vanitas spins around, wielding his broom like a shittier version of his sword, currently sitting in their weapons cabinet. He takes a few tentative steps forward, ready to crush whatever stowaway has made it onto the ship.

He finds a black kitten glaring bloody murder at him from underneath a spare crate. Vanitas tries to poke at it with the broom, only for the cat to swipe at the end and hiss again. It refuses to take any of his shit. 

When he reports to Larxene, all she does is laugh. “You know, we’ve always had a rat problem. A bird problem, too. Feed the thing. Maybe we can get it to like us.”

For whatever fucking reason, Vanitas is put on cat-taming duty. It’s a hard job, but with enough pieces of fish, he starts making some process.

He names it Hellraiser. He’s not too sure why. Just seems like a good name.

At least Larxene thinks it's funny. 

* * *

Strelitzia spends hours pouring over maps. Sometimes, when Vanitas has nothing better to do, he’ll watch her work. She’s glad for the company, especially when Larxene is steering, Luxord is cooking, and Demyx is napping. She’s also happy to explain her job to him.

“Our target is the  _ Restoration. _ It’s a tea cargo ship en route to the British colonies. We’re intercepting it at these coordinates,” she circles a random spot on the mass of parchment that is her map, “Where we’ll take their tea… hopefully without too much of a fight.”

“But that’s exactly why I’m here. I’m ready to skewer some Brits.”

Strelitzia’s smile looks sad. Vanitas suddenly feels like an asshole. “Just… don’t get hurt too much, okay? You’re fun. I like having you on our crew.” After a deep breath, Strelitzia continues on. “Anyways! Once we get the tea, we’ll sail down to Portugal and sell it there. Then it’s back to Scotland.”

Back to Xion. 

“It sounds pretty easy. Anything else we need to worry about?”

“Lots of things. Storms,” Vanitas shudders at that, “Poor wind conditions, other pirates…”

That catches Vanitas’s attention. “Other pirates?”

Strelitzia nods. “The Dandelions aren’t the only crew out there. There are hundreds. And as strong as the British navy may be, a lot of people’s hatred of the Brits is stronger.”

Vanitas leans back in his chair. The entire ship lurches uncomfortably, sending his chair skidding away from the table. He grips onto the wood for dear life as Strelitzia takes each wave like she’s the water itself. He’s intensely jealous of her.

When he finally is settled, he asks another question. “Think we’ll run into another crew?”

Strelitzia sighs. “Hopefully not.”

* * *

They run into another crew. 

They run into another crew  _ while beating down the Brits. _

The sky is a brilliant blue, the sun beating down on Vanitas’s back as he slashes at yet another sailor furious that his ship is being commandeered by five pirates. They’re especially furious that she’s commandeered the crow’s nest, where she shouts down commands to the rest of their crew.

Everything goes to shit with the next thing she shouts. 

“The Oathkeeper’s approaching from starboard! Everyone, be careful!”

Vanitas’s sword connects with his assailant’s leg, making him stagger enough that Demyx can swoop in and throw him overboard. Momentarily safe, Vanitas glances to the horizon. Sure enough, a ship blazes towards them.

The groan that Larxene unleashes at the news is a different kind of worrisome. “The Oathkeeper? God. Not those fucking dolts.”

As Demyx’s bayonet connects with another angry soldier, Vanitas runs across the deck to help Luxord drag a crate of tea towards The Dandelion. They’ve anchored inside of the tea ship, providing the worst bridge Vanitas has ever seen between the two ships. He refuses to take a step on it until they’re ready to leave and no earlier, but he can help Luxord out now. 

That, and he wants some information. “That’s just another pirate crew, right?” 

Luxord nods. “That’s right. They’re even smaller than our crew, but just as formidable. Their captain is one of the most reckless people on any sea there is.”

_ “Fuck _ Kairi!” Larxene shouts, just because she needs to make sure her opinion is heard at every fucking opportunity. She punctuates it with a frustrated shout as she elbows a sailor in the throat and makes her way towards the cargo ship’s captain. 

Luxord continues on with a nod. “Kairi is the captain. She’s dangerous. Incapacitate her if you can, but don’t engage her in direct battle. Take out her crew first, and her emotions will blind her enough for you to gain the advantage. It’s the only way.”

Luxord makes it across the rickety bridge and onto The Dandelion.

Vanitas stays on the cargo ship. He isn’t ready for the cannonball to fly through part of the hull, ripping through with such an immense shudder that Vanitas is sent flying to the ground. The Oathkeeper surges towards them as Vanitas struggles to get to his feet. He can see their flag now - five Thalassa shells, tied together to form a star. 

The cargo ship captain screams. “ _ Another  _ pirate ship!? We’re fucked!” 

“You were fucked a long time ago, assho-aaaaah!” Larxene’s insult is cut off by another severe lurch of the ship. Vanitas falls on his fucking face all over again as the ship tries to right itself against the waves. He gets to his knees just as he sees four identical pairs of rope loop around the cargo ship’s mast. Moments later, four bodies sail through the air and drop down on the ship.

Vanitas forces himself to his feet, ignoring the fear and panic rising up within him. More sailors stream out from the depths of the ship, knowing that their lives are really on the line now. The four members of the Oathkeeper fight like whirlwinds. The three young men, led by a woman who couldn’t be a day older than Vanitas, are all clearly skilled fighters.

Vanitas sees a grinning boy with brown hair fluffed by the sea breeze kill a sailor with one strike, and immediately decides he doesn’t want to die here today. Luckily for him and the rest of his own crew that these other pirates are more concerned with taking on the Brits than with fighting them. 

* * *

They fight for what feels like hours. The sailors never seem to end, and the Oathkeepers never seem to tire. Exhaustion drags at Vanitas after a while. 

At one point, even Strelitzia slides down from the crow’s nest to fight. She completely ignores Larxene’s screams at her to hide. 

“I can’t let you fight alone!” Strelitzia screams back, and that’s the end of that conversation. 

Then she’s swallowed by a sudden burst of smoke. It fills the ship, clouding over Vanitas’s sight and making it impossible to find his bearings. As the smoke thickens, he spots a cargo ship sailor throwing multiple smoke bombs in the air. 

This just got that much more terrible. 

Still, Vanitas does what he does best: he fights. He’s careful with his strikes, determined not to accidentally harm one of his own crew members in the chaos. 

He makes eye contact with one member of the Oathkeeper. The blond, the one with a spark of bright love for life in his eye. Through the smoke they look at each other. 

Then the blond turns, and goes after a sailor in the opposite direction.

* * *

Vanitas didn’t mean to fight this close to the cargo ship’s edge, but here he is, his back pressed against the railing. The cargo ship’s Chief Mate slashes at him with all the frenzy grief gets. Kairi killed the captain and this woman is too blinded by emotion to tell the difference between pirate crews. As if killing Vanitas would bring him back.

Vanitas parries her strike and goes to sweep her feet out from under her. As he does, she surges forward and drives her palm into the meat of his shoulder. 

At the same time, the ship lurches from a furious wave.

And Vanitas topples over the edge of the railing. As he falls, the last thing he hears is Strelitzia, screaming his name. 

The fall isn’t enough to kill him. Still, he hits the sea with a painful jolt as the ocean carelessly swallows him. He takes a terrified gasp, choking as water invades his lungs. He scrabbles at the waves, desperate to not be sucked under.

Somehow, his flailing helps him. He breaks through the waves and hacks up what feels like a barrel full of water. He takes one sweet gulp of air before being swallowed up once again. 

His heart hammers in his chest, blood rushing in his ears so loudly that it overpowers even the roar all around him. He doesn’t want to die here, but it’ll come for him. Everyone is too busy fighting to save him. 

He’s going to die. 

He breaks through the waves one more time. He scrambles for the ship’s hull, desperate for anything to keep him from being sucked down to the depths below.

That’s when he sees it.

Not The Dandelion’s buoy, but a different one. One he doesn’t recognize. The Dandelion has a bright red buoy. This one is a circle of pure white.

But a buoy all the same. 

Vanitas flails towards it. Somehow, his hand connects. 

And he clings for all he’s fucking worth.

* * *

They didn’t get all the tea they wanted, but nobody on their crew died. That, and Larxene got to call Kairi a bitch to her face, so Larxene deems it a success.

“So, who did the honor of saving our ship’s brawler? Luxord? Strelitzia? Not Demyx obviously, he’s too lazy to ever actually be useful.”

“Hey, I saved your life out there, Larxene!” Demyx protests.

Larxene sneers at him. “Yeah, when I had that fight handled on my own!” Still, she hesitates. “I guess you kinda helped, or whatever.”

“Anyways, I don’t know who saved Vanitas,” Demyx says. They all look at each other, at a loss.

Until Strelitzia speaks up. “I do.”

“Who?” Vanitas asks.

“It was one of the Oathkeeper’s crew. The blond boy. He saw you go, then found the cargo ship’s buoy and throw it over. By the time I came over to try to help, he was gone.”

“Did you at least catch his name?” 

Strelitzia shakes her head. “I have no idea who he was. I only know Kairi’s name out of that entire crew.” The rest of the Dandelion’s crew murmurs their assent. Nobody knows who he is. 

Vanitas thinks back to the spark he saw in his eyes. The bright one.

The one that felt weirdly… familiar.

He can’t help but feel like he’s missing something. Something much bigger than that strange pirate’s name. 

Something bigger than any of them.


	5. salt drying on my skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warmth | **bleed** | remembrance
> 
> Ven comforts a dying man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think this is the saddest one

Ven’s days are simple. He wakes up, he tends to the horses on Naminé’s farm, he waters the crops, milks the cows, takes all the animals out to pasture, eats breakfast with Naminé and Kairi, then he walks down the winding dirt path into town.

Once in town, he’ll pick up supplies, hang out at Aqua’s tavern as she prepares for her afternoon patrons, see if there are any odd jobs he can do around town for a little bit of cash, then head home. It’s a simple life, but one Ven likes. He’s a good ranch hand. 

Aqua calls him a cowboy, which he finds a little silly. He works with so much more than just cows, seriously! But she also laughs and ruffles his hair whenever she says it, and her amusement always makes his protests die in his throat. 

Ven’s halfway through a malted milk, sitting on his favorite barstool in Aqua’s tavern as she wipes down a counter, when the gunshots start. 

Ven yelps; Aqua bites back a groan. She grabs Ven’s wrist, fingers directly over his racing pulse. “Behind the counter. Now.” There’s no room for argument as she tugs him out of his seat. He slides over the counter in one smooth movement and ducks next to her, his heart hammering in his chest.

Ven glances at her. She pinches the bridge of her nose, settling into a more comfortable position behind the counter. Ven doesn’t understand how she can be so calm. This is the kind of reaction afforded to finding stray dogs eating your trash, not a shootout!

“W-will we be okay?” Ven asks. More gunshots hammer outside. Glass shatters with a litany of terrible sound, making Ven jump. On instinct, he covers his neck with his hands. 

He glances at Aqua out of the corner of his eye. She offers him a kind smile as her hand finds one of his to squeeze. “That’s right. You live outside of town. You’re not used to this.”

“I mean, I’m not afraid of guns. I shoot coyotes sometimes on the ranch! But this…” Ven trails off, letting his point be shown by the barrage of bullets just outside. With a window broken, Ven can hear angry voices yelling, even if he still can’t make out what they’re yelling about.

“You get used to it. You also get really good at replacing windows,” Aqua says none too tersely.

“But why does it happen? Who’s even shooting at each other?”

More gunshots swallow any other background noise. Aqua has to shout over the din. “Mostly bounty hunters, criminals, and the police. This town is a major trade post for anyone heading west, you know.” He does - that’s entirely why Naminé’s ranch does well enough to need a live in hired hand like him. “Some people head west in hopes of finding something good there. Other people head west to run from whatever hurt them in the east. Or… whatever  _ they _ hurt in the east.”

“So they showdown here,” Ven finishes for her.

Aqua nods. “Other places, too. But we’re still one of several.”

Ven nods slowly. The gunshots continue, as does the shouting, but it doesn’t seem as scary as before. He thinks it's mostly because of how calm Aqua is. Without her, he’d probably be terrified out of his mind.

* * *

Aqua doesn’t let Ven leave until a couple hours after the gunshots end. Even then, she pokes her head outside to make sure there’s no sheriffs or bounty hunters outside before letting him leave. 

“Be safe, Ven! And get back to the ranch as fast as possible!” she calls as he leaves. Ven raises a hand in affirmation. Still, he makes sure to walk a little faster. The quicker he can get off Main Street and back on the worn dirt path that leads to the ranch, the better. He makes it past the tavern, the closed post office, and the general store without much issue. He waves to Lauriam, the bakery’s owner, as Lauriam works to patch up the bullet holes in his front door. 

He makes it to the edge of town, just by the old jewelry store that closed down roughly two days after Ven came to work for the ranch, when he hears a groan. He freezes in place, ice-cold terror seeping through his veins. 

The voice groans again. It sounds…

It sounds pained.

Something small and sad tugs at Ven’s heart. Against his better judgement, he trails after the source of the sound. He ducks around an alleyway, clutching his bag of supplies to his chest. As if it would keep him from being shot! What a joke.

His fear dies an abrupt death when he sees the source of the noise.

A man leans against the jewelry store’s decrepit wall, hand over the sluggishly-bleeding wound in his stomach. It takes a few moments longer than it should for him to notice, then turn his head, in Ven’s direction. His eyes are still alert, but Ven has a feeling it won’t be that way for long.

He’s dying, Ven realizes.

Ven rushes to his side, falling to his knees. All his fear disappears. Nothing else matters aside from getting him help. “Can you stand?” Ven asks. “I can help get you to the nearest doctor.”

The man laughs weakly and shakes his head. Ven wants to tear him a new one for the blatant refusal. “No point,” the man says.

“No point!? What, you think you’ll sleep that off!?” Ven asks, gesturing to the stomach wound. “Come on. The town’s doctor is really good. She’ll patch you up without an issue.”

The man snorts. “Patch me up and cart me off to the gallows? Wow. I get two more weeks instead of twenty more minutes. Yay.”

Ven’s heart breaks in his chest. He thinks back to what Aqua said earlier. He had assumed this man was some innocent who got caught in the crossfire, but maybe he was wrong.

“Who are you?” Ven asks softly. He edges closer, knowing there’s no point in fearing this stranger. Not when he’s this weak. 

“Someone with a one-thousand dollar bounty on his head. Dead  _ or _ alive.”

That… that’s a lot of money. “What did you do for that kind of reward?”

The man shrugs. “You know Kansas? The state right next door? Yeah. I may or may not have destroyed the governor’s office. No one died but his dignity. Still, that’s enough to want my head.”

Ven frowns. “Why?”

“Maybe it was a political protest. Maybe someone paid me to do it. Maybe I wanted to kill the governor, but fucked up. Does it really matter anymore?” He tries to shift into a straighter sitting position, but he winces as his hand flies to his stomach wound. His shirt is dark, but it and his pants are wet from blood. 

Ven isn’t disgusted. He’s slaughtered enough cows to learn how to accept the sight of blood. He’s just…. he’s just sad, really. 

“You’re dying,” Ven points out.

“Thank you. I had no idea.”

If this guy wasn’t dying, Ven would have punched him. His frown must show on his face, because the man takes one look at him and laughs. It quickly trails off into a series of wet, hacking coughs. “I like you. What’s your name?”

“...Ven. Are you sure you don’t want a doctor...?”

“Take me to one and I’ll use the last of my strength to kill you,” he says casually. Well, that solves that, Ven guesses. “I’m Vanitas. There  _ is _ a way you can help me, if you still want.”

Ven inches even closer, the edges of his pants touching the bloodstained ground. He doesn’t care about that as much as he probably should. “Yeah?”

“I’m dead no matter what I do. Help me make the ending good.” And then, after a moment’s hesitation. “Tell me a story. Any story.”

A story? Ven can do that. He chews his lip, trying to think of what he can talk about. He glances down at Vanitas’s face, trying to guess what kind of story he’d like from just his face. His eyes are a bright shade of gold, unlike anything he’s ever seen before. He reminds him of quiet nights out on the ranch, riding his favorite horse to make sure he didn’t miss rounding up any of the herd for the day. 

This man is dangerous, but now he is dying. Even if he wasn’t, something about him makes Ven feel safe.

Suddenly, he knows what to talk about. “I keep having this weird dream,” Ven begins, searching Vanitas’s face for any kind of negative reaction. He wants to make sure Vanitas’s last story will be a good one.

“Tell me about it.”

“I’m in a bedroom I don’t recognize. But I don’t care about the weird bedroom. All I care about is this bottle on a shelf. There’s a letter inside and a charm tied around the neck. I feel like the whole thing is something important to me, but I can never remember why. So I’ll try to look at the charm, but it’s been so rusted by time that I can never figure out what it’s supposed to be. Then I figure, hey, I should try to read the letter. Maybe that’ll tell me why I care. But most of the time I can’t even get the cork off. Sometimes I can, but I’ll wake up just as I’m unfurling the letter. If I’m really lucky, I’ll be able to open the letter. That’s only ever happened once or twice.”

“What does the letter say?” Vanitas asks, his voice weaker than before. His breathing is heavier.

“I don’t know. In those dreams, I don’t know how to read.”

It’s sad, but also the tiniest bit ridiculous. Vanitas wheezes out a weak laugh at that, turning to face Ven with a small, amused smile. Part of Ven wishes he could have seen it more. 

“Reminds me…” Vanitas trails off, taking a shaky breath, “...of a dream I sometimes have.”

“Wanna tell me about it?”

Vanitas nods. Even that is starting to take effort. “I dream sometimes that I have a message to tell someone. I have to find them no matter what it fucking takes. I’ll go around asking poor saps where this person is. Whenever they ask me to describe them, I always forget what they look like. I can’t even remember what I want to tell them. Just that it’ll eat me alive if I don’t.” A tremor goes through Vanitas’s body. “Fuck, it’s cold.”

An icy stab lances Ven’s heart. That’s what happens when you die from blood loss. You get cold. He knows this. The most comfort he can offer is grasping Vanitas’s hand and holding it in his own, hoping to transfer what body warmth he has over to Vanitas. 

Vanitas offers him a smirk. “You’re a good person, Ven. You’re kind.”

His voice is so weak. 

All Ven can think to say is, “It’s a little funny how our dreams almost match up. You have a message you can’t give, I got a message I can’t read.”

Vanitas leans his head back and loops up at the sky. It’s clear today, a bright and sunny blue. Too cheerful for the somber atmosphere they share. “Think we’ll ever get it translated?”

“I hope so.”

Vanitas’s hand goes limp.

Ven holds his hand tight and wonders if the message will ever be the same on both sides. Translated perfectly.


	6. the after damp swallowed us slowly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anew | restless | **monochrome**
> 
> The canary couldn't save them from this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS THE PROMPT I WAS MOST EXCITED TO WRITE also im late and the last chapter wont go up until sunday probably! its a christmas miracle
> 
> i learned a lot about coal mines to write this.

Vanitas is certain he was born to work the coal mines. Xion likes to joke that when he was born, he crawled out of the mine shaft with a black hat already on his head, ready to work. 

He comes from a long line of coal miners - four generation’s worth. Been mining the St. Helen’s mine for as long as St. Helen’s has had a mine. 

Maybe that's why his day doesn’t begin when he wakes up. The earliest hours of the morning don’t really count for anything, not when he grabs an apple out the door and walks to the mine under the coat of a darkness that isn’t truly dark.

A coal miner’s day begins on the rickety railway cart into the mouth of pure black. 

There’s six of them piled into this piece of decrepit wood. Half the town works in the mine, and against his best efforts, he knows pretty much every miner by name. There’s Xion, his closest friend since he was in diapers, her arms slung over the sides of the cart like the experience is still something new and beautiful. Strelitzia sits next to her, fiddling with the pants she stole from her older brother and tailored to fit herself when she realized he didn’t make enough money to support them both. Kairi and Riku talk quietly to each other, probably pissed that they don’t get to take the cart down with their precious Sora. 

Though not a person, there’s Vanitas’s canary, chirping quietly from the cage currently suspended from a small rope tied to Vanitas’s wrist. Nobody really owns the canaries, but Vanitas has gotten particularly attached to this one, enjoying its small songs as he works.

He’s named it Hellraiser, because Vanitas will _raise hell_ if anything happens to this fucking bird.

Finally, there’s Ven. He’s fresh meat - at least, fresh meat for traveling this far down the mine. A spot of red still shines dully through the fresh black paint of his hat - a sign of his graduation into proper mining work. He’s only ever transported coal out before. Today will be his first time down there.

Ven keeps stealing glances at Vanitas when he must think Vanitas isn’t looking. Vanitas tries his best to ignore it.

“How are you feeling, Ven?” Xion asks, always one of the few polite people underneath the Earth’s surface. 

Ven startles, but he quickly calms down. “Honestly? Nervous. I know what to expect, but expecting something and seeing something are two different things.”

Xion nods. “You are. It can be a little scary at first, but don’t worry. You have this,” she taps the electric lantern built into her helmet, a twin to his, “And you have all of us.”

Ven offers her a timid smile in response. All Vanitas does is roll his eyes.

“Just don’t get in my way and you’re set.”

* * *

Shifts can last up to ten hours down here. Longer, if you count the hour-and-a-half cart ride down. But for all the clock may tick, time is an entirely different beast here. If they didn’t keep clocks, then they’d never know whether it's day or night on the outside. Down here, it's all the same.

They settle into their roles easily. Vanitas and Xion grab their pickaxes and set off for the very end of the mine. Kairi and Riku note the temperature - sweltering 365 days a year - and set off to manage the groundwater leaking out of the walls. Strelitzia sets up supplies for the rest of the team, grabbing spare pickaxes, lanterns, water bags, and everything in-between.

Ven wanders around, at a loss as to what to do. Vanitas watches out of the side of his eye, curious to see what the fresh meat will do. Not every miner who can work well on the surface can work well this far into the mine. 

After a few minutes, Ven approaches Strelitzia. “So… um. Is there anything I can help with?”

Strelitzia beams at him. “Yes! Here, lemme just…” She turns around to dig into her endless bag of supplies. She hands a confused Ven a bag of limestone dust. “Take this!”

Ven looks at the dust, baffled. “Uh… what do I do with it?”

“Put it on the walls,” Strelitzia explains. “Coal dust is unavoidable, but you can keep from inhaling as much if this is packed on the walls to keep it in. I like putting on a fresh coat each week. Could you handle it for me?”

Ven still looks completely lost. Vanitas and Xion exchange looks. Someone needs to help the poor sap out, at least for now. 

“You do it,” Vanitas says, already knowing what she’ll ask him. “I have money to make.”

“We're all paid hourly, not by how much coal we mine,” Xion reminds him. Damn her and her logic. She offers him a sympathetic smile. “Besides, I’m friends with his brother, so I know a little bit about him.”

His brother… “Roxas? The guy who works at the general store?”

Xion nods. “And the post office, and the community center, and pretty much everywhere in town,” she mentions with a small giggle. “But Ven admires you a lot, Vanitas. I think it’d mean a lot to him if you helped him out.”

Vanitas goes to respond, but the entire mine begins to shake. The ground below them shakes as the walls tremble. Bits of dust fall from the roof, sifting through the steel rods that help keep the mine’s structure in place. 

Almost everyone waits for it to pass, content to let the shaking stop before continuing either their work or their conversations. Only Ven worries, looking around with wide, terrified eyes. His lantern nearly blinds half the miners here, making them all grumble and complain. When the shaking stops, Ven jolts, his hands trembling as he tries to spread the limestone dust on the walls.

What he doesn’t realize is that this happens all the time. Nobody cares about a little shaking anymore. If Hellraiser is okay and if the roof still stands, then the work continues. 

Xion tilts her head towards Ven. “See? It’d mean a lot.”

He groans. “You owe me.”

Xion giggles. “Okay. I’ll have you over for dinner tomorrow. Have fun!”

He migrates Hellraiser to the clip on his belt loop. She chirps in protest, but after fishing a sunflower seed out of his pocket and presenting it to her, she’s satisfied. Then come off his axe, and the number of other tools he’d normally reserve for digging coal out of the wall, and he’s ready to go.

He jogs over to where Ven stands on his tiptoes, fingers packing limestone dust into the inky black walls. He claps Ven on the shoulder. “Heard you might need some help,” he says.

Ven jumps at the sound of his voice, but when he turns to face Vanitas, a large smile spreads across his face. “Really?” he asks, like he’s a kid granted access into the candy shop of his dreams.

“You don’t know these mines like I do. You’ll get lost if someone doesn’t look after you.”

“Hey! I can take care of myself, thanks!”

“Sure you can. Now gimme some of that dust.”

Ven rolls his eyes, but pours some dust into the bag Vanitas snatches off his belt loop. The guy has a little bit of fight in him.

Maybe he isn’t all bad.

* * *

It’s funny how the mines almost mirror the town above ground. Anyone who doesn’t work in them would never know how the tunnels weave intricate pathways just below the streets everyone else walks on. They think a mine shaft is nothing more than a hole in the ground.

Really, it’s an underground city. The street lights are the lanterns swinging from hands or waving from heads as miners travel. The cars are railway carts, plodding along the same worn metal tracks as they always go. 

And the citizens?

Miners, each and every one of them. 

“This job hasn’t been done correctly in a while,” Vanitas explains as they walk along a part of the mine that hasn’t seen much work in a few weeks. There’s a faint haze in the air, the only indication of the coal dust that comes to define a miner’s every breath.

“Why?” Ven asks.

“Not enough people to do it. Helps that you’re down here now.”

A rumble interrupts anything Ven may have wanted to say next. “Don’t worry!” Vanitas shouts over the sound. “This happens all the time!”

“Really? This never happens where I used to work!” Ven shouts back, leaning against one of the walls to keep his balance. A bit of dirt falls from the roof, landing on his hat. Without thinking, Vanitas steps forward and dusts it off.

They end up incredibly close to each other. Ven glances at him, then looks away, right as the shaking dies down. “O-oh,” Ven says quietly. “Thanks.”

“Getting dust in your lungs is unavoidable. Getting dust in your eyes? Easy to stop.” That, and they’d be fucked if Ven got any in his eyes. Vanitas didn’t bring any water with them. Why would he, when Strelitzia always wanders around distributing out waters to everyone?

Ven thanks him again before spinning on his heel to look at the walls. His voice still sounds a little shaky. Is he alright? He better not be sick. If he gets Vanitas sick, there’ll be hell to pay.

For the most part, they work quietly. Slathering dust on walls is one of the least interesting things to do in the whole mine. It doesn’t even give Vanitas a decent workout the way mining actual coal does. Occasionally, Ven will ask him a question about himself - does he live alone, how early does he show up to work, does he have any pets - and Vanitas will give an answer. He doesn’t ask any questions back. Ven doesn’t seem to mind.

There’s a question that makes Vanitas stop in place, his fingers pressing into the black walls as he considers it.

“Have you ever wanted to do anything else other than mine?”

Vanitas barks out a laugh. “You know, no one’s ever asked me that before.”

“I’m not surprised,” Ven grumbles. “You’re from _the_ mining family in St. Helens. Was there ever even another option for you?”

For all the time Vanitas spends thinking, he’s never thought about that. Mining is in his blood. It’s in his lungs. He’s a miner, through and through.

“What else would I even do?” Vanitas asks. “All the other jobs in town are taken.”

Ven shrugs. Vanitas glances at him, the light from his lantern as he moves his head illuminating the slight tint to his cheeks. Ven shrugs, clearly embarrassed. “You don’t have to stay _here_ either. You could always leave.”

“I could.” Something else comes to mind. It’s not really something he’s ever thought about. It’s just a part of him, he realizes. Like trusting that the sun will always rise in the morning. Or that darkness will greet him after he crosses the mouth of the mine. Why stop to consider something that’s just a part of you?

Vanitas also debates not telling Ven. He owes Ven nothing, after all. 

He also has no reason to keep quiet, not when Ven is watching him with such an expectant look. “I’ve never really considered leaving. I think fate is a bunch of bullshit, but being here? In this mine. It’s always felt right. Almost like…”

“Almost like…?” Ven repeats.

Almost like Vanitas has been looking for something, and whatever it is, it's hidden deep underground.

The shaking starts up again. Vanitas pays it no mind, even as Ven’s eyes widen and he braces himself. It’ll pass, like it always does.

Then a chunk of rock falls from the ceiling, just an inch away from Vanitas’s foot. 

“Fuck!” Vanitas shouts, jumping away from the rock. He looks up to the steel rods that brace the ceiling, shaking with the rest of the damn tunnel. Another chunk of rock falls further down the mine. Too far away for Vanitas to see, but the _thud_ travels down the eerie silence of their particular tunnel. 

“Is this normal?” Ven asks, his voice high and small with fear.

Vanitas wishes he could comfort him. But he fucking can’t. “No.”

“What do we do?”

The shaking continues. Dirt falls from the walls around them, slipping past Vanitas’s fingers. He pulls Hellraiser’s cage off his belt and looks at her. She’s titters, scared, but is otherwise fine. They’re not in danger of exploding.

Just being crushed to death if this doesn’t stop.

In that moment, he makes a decision. One he’s never made before.

“We run for our fucking lives, Ven.” 

With that, he grabs ahold of Ven’s hand and makes a break for it. They didn’t bother to take a cart down here, not when they’d have to abandon it to finish putting dust on the wall. The closest one is at the junction half a mile back. If they can just get to that, they should be okay.

Rocks tumble around them as the shaking grows more violent. Vanitas hasn’t stumbled in years, too used to the way the earth shakes to let it catch him off guard, but it gets harder and harder to keep his footing. His shoulder slams into a wall, leaving his shirt with an ugly white streak and pain racing up and down his arm. 

Ven keeps pulling him forward, picking up the slack for them both. Vanitas returns the favor when the steel rod above them buckles in pathetically and lashes Ven in the back. He stumbles forward, crying out in pain, but Vanitas forces him to keep running. 

Rocks fall all around them, making it harder to run. Metal rods scream as they buckle under the weight of the earth shifting.

The roof caves in.

The utter darkness swallows them both.

And the last sensation Vanitas registers is a hand, warm in his.

* * *

_And somewhere in the future-_

_-Humid air, green grass, honking cars-_

_-The next time round._


	7. like the shiver of a passing train

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rebirth | corruption | **reverse**
> 
> A chance meeting in Central Park.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM LATE but that's fine because this is DONE and WE DID IT FOLKS
> 
> i promise i have nothing against rural missouri, vanitas is just crass and overdramatic
> 
> i hope you enjoyed the ride!!!! i also hope this lives up to the tags of "sad with a happy ending"

Ven dreams of the strangest things. 

Sometimes he dreams of a beautiful voice singing words he can never decipher. Sometimes he dreams that he’s on a ship in the middle of the sea, a buoy in his hands. Other times he dreams of a strange, decrepit building made of wood and thatched grass, so worn down that warm sunlight filters through the gaps in the grass.

He dreams of other things, too. Humid heat and a crushing darkness. The wind whistling in his ears as he rides on the back of a horse. A bottle holding a letter that he can never read.

It wouldn’t bother him if he didn’t dream of the same things over and over again. 

He doesn’t get any of it. He’s been on a boat before. What New Yorker  _ hasn’t _ taken the ferry to a different burrow at least once? He rode horses up in Albany. He can  _ read. _

He tries not to think about it too much, but in times of stillness his thoughts are bound to catch up with him. Like now, when he sits by Burnett Fountain as the springtime sun just peeks over the horizon. Central Park is both too big and too famous to ever grant something like true solitude, but in the early hours of the morning this particular area is quiet. People occasionally pass by, but not enough to scare the sparrows that Ven scatters seed for. 

With the sound of gentle chirping and babbling water, Ven feels content. He loves New York, even if he knows that he’s the worst kind of New Yorker: the trust fund kid let loose in the city to live out his dreams on his parent’s ridiculous amounts of money. His only saving grace is that he doesn’t want to be an artist or a poet. He wants to go into literary management; the trust fund just… you know. Pays for his rent while he spends the next five years as an agency receptionist. 

He’s brought out of his thoughts by a small black dog with pointy ears and a curly tail trotting into his view. It sees the seed scattered on the ground and makes a beeline for the food, scaring off all the sparrows Ven had worked so hard to bait. 

He can’t be mad though, not when the dog is so cute. The owner attached to the leash trailing from its harness is pretty cute, too. 

“Hellraiser. Quit it,” the owner says. His voice is low and smooth and Ven instantly decides he wants to hear it more. 

“It’s fine,” Ven says. “Hellraiser’s a really weird name for such a cute dog.”

The owner scrunches his nose up when he frowns. “That’s because you haven’t heard her bark yet. Fuck, calling it barking is too generous.”

Ven chuckles. “It’s that bad?”

“Car alarms sound better than her.” And then, when Hellraiser trots up to Ven to sniff him, “If you want to pet her, you can.”

Ven does, scratching around her ears and under her chin. Her chest, belly, and paws are all white, leaving her head and back black. He smiles down at her, grateful for the small interaction. He glances up at the owner. “I’m Ven, by the way. What’s your name?”

“Vanitas.”

Weird name for such a cute guy. Ven makes a point  _ not _ to say that part out loud, though. 

“I better get going,” Vanitas continues. “I have a meeting in an hour, and if I don’t tire this monster out enough during this walk then she’ll spend all afternoon tearing up my apartment.” Vanitas tugs on Hellraiser’s harness and clicks his tongue. She goes back to his side.

There are entire countries smaller than Central Park. There’s a better chance of them never meeting again if Ven lets him leave. 

Something deep inside Ven splinters terribly at the thought of losing him. 

Wait.

_ Losing him? _

What is he, a cheap romance novel? 

Ven tries to groan internally, but the sight of Vanitas’s retreating back still pulls at him. He’s on his feet before he knows what’s going on. “Wait!” he calls. Vanitas turns back to face him, a single eyebrow raised.

His eyes are bright gold. The only light thing about him. Ven can’t look away.

The words come out before he can stop them. “Are you free this weekend? Let’s get coffee.”

To his surprise, Vanitas accepts.

* * *

Ven works for Wayfinder Literary Agency, one of the approximately five million boutique literary agencies in New York. LA is for film, with Atlanta hot on its heels; Nashville lives for music; and New York is for a ton of things, books being one of them. 

Ven knows agents pretty well. The authors they represent? Not so much. That’s why Kairi, the youngest junior agent at Wayfinder and one of Ven’s closest friends, gave him the most unimpressed look in existence when he told her about his weekend plans. 

“Vanitas?” Kairi lets out a laugh. “Ven, you scored a date with Naminé’s biggest client.” He knows Naminé, at least. She is Kairi’s…. Kairi’s something-or-other. He’s not too sure what. What he does know is that she’s an excellent agent, the kind of person who can go toe-to-toe with the Big Five publishing companies with nothing more than her soft voice and sketches of potential cover art. She’s never  _ not _ sold a book for her clients.

And if Vanitas is her biggest client, then Ven might as well be buying a latte for a literary celebrity. 

All Ven can think to say is, "Stop it, Kairi. It's not a date."

For some reason Ven can’t figure out, he relays this story to Vanitas that weekend. Vanitas picked the coffee shop, because this coffee shop sells what they call fire-breathing mochas - mochas with a heap of cayenne pepper stirred in. Vanitas is certifiably insane, because he orders a regular latte with a shot of espresso and a shot of cayenne pepper. 

Ven, like a normal person, orders an iced vanilla latte with oat milk.

“I’ve published a few books. Made it onto some dumb lists a few times. Some fuck in LA is turning one of my books into a movie.” Vanitas talks about it like he’s talking about the weather. It goes to show just how much content is out there that Ven hasn’t heard of him before.

“What genres do you write for?” Ven asks.

“History, mostly. The one snagged me Naminé was a historical romance.” Vanitas shakes his head. “It’s stupid, but put some tragic lovers in fancy coats and people lose their damn minds.”

Ven chuckles. No wonder he hasn’t seen Vanitas’s work before. He sticks to fantasy and contemporary works. He’s had enough literary classics to last him a lifetime. 

They talk for three hours straight.

* * *

Ven keeps having weird dreams, but more details get filled in the edges. 

A voice still sings to him, but if he concentrates hard enough, he can almost make out the words. He sees a head of black hair, shining like fresh ink in the patch of sunlight the rotten thatched roof lets slip through. The buoy in his hands is meant to save someone drowning in the ocean. 

He and Vanitas meet up twice a week every week. Sometimes more, if they happen to run into each other in Central Park. After the second time, Ven starts to wonder if Vanitas walks Hellraiser by this specific fountain on purpose.

“Jeez Kairi, we’re not dating,” Ven says with a hot face and a sharp tongue when Kairi asks about Vanitas.

“Then you’re just friends?”

“Ye-” but Ven cuts himself off, because that isn’t right either. He settles for a shrug instead. “We just are.”

* * *

“I can’t believe you actually like this place,” Vanitas scoffs. There’s a pastrami sandwich in his hands, but given how he still hasn’t taken a single bite, he must want to talk more than he wants to eat.

Which is both silly and flattering, considering Vanitas was the one that dragged them into the store in order to get out of the humid June air. 

“There’s lots of reasons to like this place,” Ven spits back. He’s more than halfway done with his reuben. “The city’s beautiful in fall, it makes sense for  _ both of us _ career-wise, there’s always something new to do, my friends are here…”

“You pay way too much for a shoebox on the fifteenth floor of a building that’s practically falling apart,” Vanitas points out. Ven has to fight down an embarrassed blush. He invited Vanitas over to see his apartment last week, and Vanitas has yet to let that go.

Vanitas splits a  _ townhouse  _ with his friend Xion in one of the nicest parts of Manhattan, because they’re both successful enough to be wealthy. 

“Not all of us can be bestselling authors!”

“Bestselling authors wouldn’t sell shit without agents, so you’re right.” Finally, Vanitas takes a bite of his dumb sandwich.

As he chews, a question comes to Ven’s mind. He blurts it out before he can think better of it. “Why come to New York, then? Were you born here or something?”

Vanitas swallows and starts to talk, meaning he’ll probably never finish his sandwich at this rate. “You’re gonna laugh if I tell you, so no.”

“Now I gotta know! Come on, tell me!” 

Vanitas gives him an unimpressed look. Ven pulls out all the stops. “I’ll buy you pizza if you tell me.”

That gets Vanitas. He sighs. “Imagine, if you will, bumfuck nowhere. I called it rural Missouri, but it’s the same damn place. A lot of the stuff I write is based off my dreams, and I’ve been writing since the moment I could hold a pencil. I could withstand the meth and the vicodin, so it would have been a much smarter idea to stay in Missouri and write there. I didn’t need to move to New York to snag an agent.”

“It helps, though. With networking and all that stuff.”

Vanitas shrugs. “I guess. My parents wanted me to stay, but I felt…” he trails off, a wary twist to his mouth. He side-eyes Ven. “This is the part you aren’t allowed to laugh at.”

Ven mimes zipping his lips shut. 

Mollified, Vanitas continues. “I felt. God, it’s so stupid to say it out loud,” he bemoans, cradling his head in his hands. With no small amount of bitterness, he says, “I felt like I  _ had _ to come to New York. So I only applied to colleges in New York. Ended up going to Sarah Lawrence.”

“No way!” Ven says. “I grew up in Yonkers! Ended up going to NYU,” Ven pointedly ignores Vanitas’s scoff, “but my parents are still there.”

“I got a publishing deal my senior year. I could have stayed in Yonkers, but then I felt like I  _ had _ to move to the city. Luckily for me, Xion was also looking to move to the city, so we found a place together. Been here ever since.”

“Me too. But I like it here. I don’t think I’ll leave for a long time.”

Vanitas gets a weird look on his face, one that Ven can’t really make sense of. Panic flares somewhere in his gut. Vanitas isn’t planning on moving, is he? But they’ve only known each other for a couple of months. That isn’t nearly enough time! 

For not the first time, Ven thinks about getting it over with and asking Vanitas out on a real date. 

For not the first time, Ven chickens out.

“I’m not going anywhere for a while. My townhouse is too nice to give up,” Vanitas says. Ven’s shoulder slump in relief and Vanitas smirks at the sight. Ven kind of hates him. Mostly, he hates how embarrassed and flustered Vanitas makes him. What he wouldn’t do to see Vanitas reduced to the same way he feels!

“Good,” Ven says. “There’s still so much I haven’t learned about you. I’m not ready to let you go yet.”

A slight tint comes to Vanitas’s cheeks as he looks away. 

Ven would intentionally choke to death on his own sandwich if the sight in front of him wasn’t so cute  _ and _ so gratifying. Turns out Vanitas isn’t so unflappable after all.

* * *

A week later, as they walk out of a Manhattan movie theater together and head towards the subway, Vanitas’s hand darts out to grab Ven’s wrist. 

Ven looks at him quizzically. “Something the matter?”

“What are we?”

Ven is baffled. “We’re… people? I hope we’re people.”

“Har har,” Vanitas deadpans, rolling his eyes. “You suck at playing dumb, Ven. I mean what is  _ this,” _ he gestures to the space between them, “between us.”

Ven freezes. Doubt fills his mind and leaks through his body. Vanitas has never turned down his offers to hang out. He even initiates sometimes. He’s never seemed like he’s had a bad time with Ven, either. Has Ven been wrong all along? 

He doesn’t know how to answer. “Um, well…”

Vanitas lets go of his wrist. “Because pretty much every time we’ve been together has felt like a date,” he says. “But you never said it was a date.”

“Do… do you want those to have been dates?”

“Actually, yes. I do. I think all the times we’ve met up, tonight included, should have been dates.”

All Ven can do is blink. All the air feels like its been suckerpunched out of his chest. But Vanitas is frowning at him, insecurity creeping over the edges of his lips. Ven has to say something. “Me too,” he blurts out. He takes a deep breath to try to steady himself. “Y-yeah. Me too.”

He takes an even further step. He reaches out for Vanitas’s hand, their fingers intertwining almost automatically as they touch.

Vanitas smiles, unguarded and honest. He leans in towards Ven.

Ven meets his lips halfway in the sweetest kiss he’s ever had.

Sometimes, it’s that simple.

* * *

They date in earnest. Vanitas invites Ven over to his fancy townhouse. When Xion comes in, he introduces Ven as  _ the boyfriend you finally get to meet. _

Xion is delighted to meet him. Just like Kairi is delighted to meet Vanitas, even if half the reason is just to get an autograph out of him. 

They go all over the city. Ven brings Vanitas home for dinner with his parents. They love him, too. Think the two of them are a good match.

Things are good.

Really good.

* * *

Sometimes Ven dreams of Vanitas. There are times when he’ll bark out orders, eyes bright under a black hard hat and a canary tweeting from a tiny cage on his belt loop. Sometimes Ven will sketch out designs he can never make sense of as Vanitas sings under his breath at his side, the two of them surrounded by candles and pastries. 

Sometimes he dreams of Vanitas’s arms around his waist, holding him tight as they stay on horseback through a lonely valley.

Sometimes he dreams of Vanitas dying. Those are always the worst ones.

Sometimes he doesn’t dream at all, realizing that the arms around his waist are what’s actually tethering him to reality. Ven will blink back to the waking world only to be greeted by a head of spiky black hair. Vanitas might sniffle against Ven’s collarbone before nuzzling a little closer in his sleep.

And Ven will think this is what he’s been waiting for, a yearning that stretching far beyond his twenty-something years on Earth.

* * *

“I got you something,” Vanitas says, fishing something out of his pocket. They sit together on the edge of the same fountain in Central Park where they first met. Hellraiser pokes her head into a nearby bush, searching for squirrels to chase. 

Ven’s learned not to pay any mind to her when she does stuff like this in the year he and Vanitas have been together. 

“Sweet! I love presents.”

Vanitas cracks a crooked smile. “I know.” He takes Ven’s hand, uncurls it, and drops a small star charm in his palm. “For your keys. I have a matching one.”

A matching charm for their matching keys. Ven chuckles, even as he brings out his own keys to add it to the ring. The charm is small and silver. He feels like he’s seen it in a dream before. 

“I love it, Vanitas. Thanks.” He shows his appreciation with a quick kiss, one that Vanitas is happy to reciprocate. When they pull away, Ven rests his head on Vanitas’s shoulder and laces their hands together. “Can’t believe it’s been a year.”

Vanitas rests his head on top of Ven’s. “Feels much longer than that, right?”

“Yeah.”

Sometimes being with Vanitas feels like deja vu. He’ll say something, or he’ll look a certain way, and Ven can’t help but feel like this isn’t the first time he’s seen it. 

For all Vanitas doesn’t believe in fate, Ven wonders if something bigger brought them together. If there’s some cosmic destiny that pushed them together, or if random chance just happened to pull a number in their favor.

Whatever it is, Ven doesn’t care. 

All he cares about is the result.

The two of them, together.


End file.
